


Meltdown

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Dark Knight [11]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8862826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo has to distance himself.





	

Kylo manages to get away from the training, but it isn’t easy. He’s been working on being more aware of what can set him off, and either avoiding or minimising those times. If there’s no avoiding, or it’s too quick to prepare, he’s learned how to literally just turn and walk away to as safe a distance as he can.

It’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing that he’s so poorly in control of his own responses, and he _hates_ that everyone _knows_ he’s hair-trigger about things, and yet… it is who he is.

Some discussions turn into arguments. Some training turns into memories. Some names make his whole body cold. Some sounds make his body turn to fight-or-flight. Not all at the same degree of intensity, and not many at this level. Most of it just makes him snippy and short-tempered until he realises what’s happened, and he regains control through the knowledge. Some of it means he growls at people, and then they work out before he does, and apologise for setting him off. It’s harder to come down if someone else realises he’s upset before he does, but still possible.

This… is the other kind.

He staggers away from the makeshift temple and into the woods, where there’s fewer people to potentially hurt. He breaks into a run when his body starts to kick up the tension, and he throws back his head in a howl that breaks around his need for air. 

Kylo can’t even _remember_ what it was. He just - he needed - it all - in his head - things happened and then a thudthudthud of his heart and a swelling like a bee-sting to the lips and tongue, making words impossible. A  punch in his ribcage like all the fireworks going off at once, and he can’t even _see_ , he can’t string together thoughts, and he just…

His name. He hears it. It slides through his head, but he doesn’t know how to get outside of his body, locked somewhere in the tension of his chest. His fingers claw through clods of earth, the skin below his nails getting gross with grass and mud. His knees ache where they touch the ground, but he’s trying to ground himself with the sensations, trying to keep himself from slipping out of the world and into fury.

“Babe… Kylo… hey, it’s me. It’s Poe. I’m here. Okay?”   


Deeper into the earth, reaching for the Force. He knows it is in the roots, and it is in his anger. It is in the trees, and it is in his pain. Light and Dark, and both call to him. One is a whirlwind of fire and quick-burn, the other… slower, like water trickling through rocks in caves. Kylo pushes his face into the grass and screams, resisting the voice that says _red red red red red red red red cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut saber saber saber saber…_

More words, but he flings out with the Force when he feels Poe get too close, sending him flying away. He can’t come too close, or he might _hurt_ him. Might choke the life out of him. Might crush his bones. Might rip him to pieces. Might–

“Kylo… I’m gonna sit here, okay? Sitting down. I’m here. Where are you?”  


He can’t talk, so he growls. He wants Poe to leave, for his own sake, but he also… wants him to stay, because he’s terrified and hurting. 

There’s no way to communicate aloud, so he flashes out a momentary sensation of the inside of his head, and then sits back with his hands over his face. He runs his fingers over his nose, his cheeks, to ground him. Pulls at his hair, so he remembers where his body ends. Pulls harder, because the pain is addictive, and…

“I’m going to shuffle closer, okay? Slowly. Slowly.” The blaster is put down, though Kylo _does_ know Poe wouldn’t use it. “Coming over to you. Alright? You’re here on the base. You’re safe. You’re with friends.”  


Here. Not - not _there_. With Poe. Kylo bites his lip and opens his eyes. Light. So much light. Green. Green. Not grey. Green.

 _Stay here stay here_. Breathe slower. Hold it in. Swell up a giant bubble in your chest and imagine yourself inside of it. Hold onto it. Slow push out, slow. Slow. Thumb to each finger in turn, feel your toes. He goes through the routines as Poe recites them, following into the patterns through long use and repetition. 

A touch to his arm, to his shoulder. Careful, and building up. Taking it by degrees, until he can cope with the rub up and down. He’s starting to get cold and when he shivers, he finds himself covered in a coat. It smells of him. Of home. 

“Stay with me, Kylo. You’re okay. You didn’t hurt anyone. You’re okay. You did good, babe. You did good.”  


He pushes his face into Poe’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”  


“I’m still sorry.”   


These episodes are getting further between, but he still wishes they’d go completely. Kylo wonders if he’ll ever be ‘free’, ever be ‘normal’. The horror of never being cured washes through him, and he starts to cry.

Fingers stroke his hair, his shoulders, his back. He cries even harder, getting all of the pain out in one go. When he’s done, he feels… calmer. Not happier, but less upset. Poe tugs at his hand.

“C’mon. Speeder’s just a five minute walk away. I’ll make your favourite soup.”  


Soup. It doesn’t cure anything at all, but it sure does help. Kylo nods, and lets himself be taken home. He doesn’t give Poe his jacket back. Not for hours. 


End file.
